


Resonance

by Star_on_a_Staff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Soul Eater
Genre: Action & Romance, Bantering, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Combat, Crushes, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Meister!Annette, Slice of Life, Soul Eater AU, Weapon!Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff
Summary: The mage gasps as the taller figure arches down to her, grabbing her arm and suddenly transforming with a brief, amber-colored flash of light so piercing that it forces them to fall back on the ground in shock and absolute terror.When the light and black spots begin to fade from the mage’s vision, the girl—she’s just a girl!—stalks towards the mage with a heavy bladed great sword in her hands. The edge drags on the broken cobbled walk before the girl heaves it into the air with little effort whatsoever, her song shearing into a battle cry.Gods, the mage thinks in faint terror just before she brings the sword down, I just pissed off a meister and her goddess-damned weapon.Felix/Annette, Soul Eater AU. Commission for Tori!
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32





	Resonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrymatcha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrymatcha/gifts).



> Alexa, play Sword and Shield by Sister Hazel. 
> 
> This is a 4k word commission for the lovely Tori, who is big brained and asked me to write a Soul Eater AU of Felix and Annette! I hope you enjoy <3 <3 <3

The graveyard is still, quiet. A dense, rolling fog the color of spirits licks at the gravestones sunken and buried in browning grass, outlining the faint silhouette of a hunched figure crouched over a ravaged tombstone. 

The figure mutters under their breath anxiously, their hands moving in stuttering swirls around the bones of a freshly exhumed corpse. Sparks of feeble, forbidden sorcery snap into the air like static, and the light briefly illuminates the sickly face of the mage, exhilarated and desperate. 

“There’s our target,” a soft voice like steel says aloud. The mage jerks in surprise. 

“Charges of exhumation, disturbance of private property, and forbidden necromantic sorcery.” A lighter voice cuts through the black of the night as the mage shrieks and scrabbles backward for their things. “And they’re not even a Witch. Are you really trying to raise the dead without the required magical prowess?”

“The dead stay dead.” The grass parts underfoot the steps of a hooded figure with eyes like amber and a smile like death. “To interfere is pointless.”

“I think they get it, Felix,” His companion scolds as she reaches out her smaller hand towards him. “Come on, let’s teach them a lesson.”

She starts humming. 

The mage gasps as the taller figure arches down to her, grabbing her arm and suddenly transforming with a brief, amber-colored flash of light so piercing that it forces them to fall back on the ground in shock and absolute terror. 

When the light and black spots begin to fade from the mage’s vision, the girl—she’s just a girl!—stalks towards the mage with a heavy bladed great sword in her hands. The edge drags on the broken cobbled walk before the girl heaves it into the air with little effort whatsoever, her song shearing into a battle cry. 

_Gods_ , the mage thinks in faint terror just before she brings the sword down, _I just pissed off a meister and her goddess-damned weapon._

O.O

According to the Church of Seiros, a weapon’s greatest honor is to be chosen as the Goddess’s personal choice of arms, used against the forces of evil that crawl the surface of the earth. The goddess is gracious in her selection, however, but precious few have been able to prove their skill of being wielded by such an user. 

Lately, however, the schism that has divided the Empire from the Church has been slowly widening over time, and so far, the only nation that has been consistent in providing weapons for the Goddess has been the Holy Kingdom. Dimitri himself has proven a skilled weapon user, as has every heir in the Blaiddyd family, and every generations has consistently presented powerful weapons to the Goddess. 

But lately, there has been a savagery behind Dimitri’s blows that the boar manages to keep off of his pleasant countenance. A front, all of his gallantry.

It, Felix thinks, glowering, is sickening.

Dedue reverts easily enough for Dimitri; a heavy-bladed greataxe that cleaves through poisoned souls like they’re carving butter. Sylvain and Ingrid squabble at each other on a day-to-day basis and yet it’s as if all of their animosity vanishes as soon as Ingrid leaps into the form of a piercing polearm which Sylvain snatches from the air, grinning madly as if the performance was supposed to mean something. 

As for Felix, he’s all teeth and sharpened elbows if they try to nudge him into reverting fully for them. He takes grim delight in that face that Sylvain can’t even get his blade off the floor, and an even grimmer joy when Dimitri jerks his hand away from Felix’s blade with a scorch mark on his palm. 

His weapon form is a sore point for the Fraldarius family. His childhood friends know better than to ask him the damning question of why he’s a sword. They’ve learned, the hard way, what it takes for the inimitable form of the titular Fraldarius shield to morph into the angry, bladed steel that Felix takes on whenever someone so much as looks at him pityingly.

Felix was to be Dimitri’s weapon, and then the Lady Goddess’s. Glenn’s death changed all that. 

“Let them believe that you’re still learning,” Rodrigue pleads with Felix in yet another argument about lineage and its ridiculous traditions. “It will only grow worse as time goes on. When will you accept your responsibilities as the Holy Shield and Defender of Faerghus?”

“When I’m cold and buried alongside Glenn,” Felix will always spit back, and he stalks away in the wake of his father’s grief and anger. 

It’s become a bit of a routine. An unfortunate norm. 

Annette’s partnership with Felix is most definitely not. 

Even without some prestigious heirship to her name, Annette’s mother was another of the Kingdom’s strongest meisters. She was able to train both Gilbert and his brother until they’ve become the Twin Hammers of Dominic, and even Annette’s genetic preference for heavy-hitting weapons shines through in her two-handed fighting style with Felix’s greatsword form. 

_An impressive history_ , the students whisper to each other. 

_An intriguing partnership_ , Professor Byleth says with a nod. 

_A complete upstart in tradition_ , the aghast nobles hiss. 

To be fair, even Felix and Annette approached their partnership with great wariness. Annette was tiny. Felix was mean. Their wavelengths could not have been more different, his burning a fierce, angry and icy blue, all points and jagged edges, while hers glows a pleasant caramel color with soft curls and warm heat. Professor Manuela remarks that by all accounts, their partnership is an anomaly.

But somewhere along the line, they began reaching for each other without hesitation, and that bond named trust fueled with their mutual determination propelled them to the top weapon and meister pairings of the academy. 

It’s why Annette is the only meister in this academy that he respects. She understands that the snarling edges of his soul are not to be delicately handled, but she holds him with a fierce care that soothes the inner edges of his hurt without coddling him.

It’s why he transforms so quickly and powerfully for her, why she simply has to hum and hold out her hand with a smile of trust for him to quietly put his own hand in hers, throwing his head back so that his form snarls and elongates into one of the deadliest blades the Academy has seen in years. 

It’s why they work so well together, after all, and why Felix doesn’t immediately terminate their partnership when he walks in on Annette giggling to Mercedes about how his wavelength is “squishy.” 

“You know when cats raise their hackles but their fur is still super soft?” Annette had said in a stage-whisper. “It’s kind of like that!”

“Training,” Felix barked, snatching her hand and dragging her away by the soles of her heels. “We’re going. Now.” 

Mercedes placed a delicate hand over her mouth in silent laughter, and Felix remembered feeling the back of his neck warm when Annette wrapped her own hand tighter around his own, beaming up at him with such a mischievous grin that he’d transformed just for the sake of watching her yelp and topple over by the unexpected weight. 

But, because she’s his partner, Annette had pouted fondly in the air and hefted the enormous greatsword like he weighed nothing. “Meanie.”

O.O

The mage rolls out of the way just in time for the blade to crash into several feet of exhumed earth and broken cobble. There’s a vibration in the steel next to the mage’s ringing ear that sounds like a much-too-human growl, and they scramble to their feet in terror as a steady amber gaze trains on their countenance. 

And so the mage puts up their hands and fires off a spell. They have no other choice, really. 

Annette dodges with the nimbleness lent to her from years of practicing footwork with first, her father, and later, Felix. The enormous sword, glittering menacingly in the sheer moonlight filtering in through the clouds, reveals the amber glare of the figure in black, and the judgement in his gaze is terrifying. 

The sword’s hilt is curved like the claws of a romping lion and when the folded metal sears through the air, it sounds like a roar. 

The mage casts spell after feeble spell, but the girl bats each one away as if they’re toys. Sweat beads on their countenance as the girl lifts the sword, grown to a monstrous size, and they reach deep inside themselves for one last powerful spell just as the girl brings her chin down, hefts the sword up, and charges.

Everything goes white.

O.O

For several terrifying moments, the world is dust and chaos and Annette’s vision has gone to snow. Her ears ring with a head-piercing buzz, and she winces as she picks herself unsteadily up from the ground. 

Felix is yelling something at her as she leans heavily on his handle. Dust stirs the grass and the smell of something putrid has collected in her nostrils. There’s a bit of blood streaming down her temple, but thankfully she can shake off her stupor as long as she can just…hold still…

“—have to move—!”

Another blast, and this one Annette just manages to parry with the hilt of her sword. The mage has flicked their wrists until they’re glimmering with sorcery and untold magicks with desperation in their eyes. 

“Don’t touch me!”

Annette plunges the sword into the softened soil as the mage screams and curls inward, waves and waves of magic sucking and drawing inward like riptides. 

“I thought this guy was just a necromancer!” She yells over the din to Felix, who just flashes back his own incredulity. 

“We need cover, _now_.” Felix sounds tinny in his weapon form, but even his transformed self can’t disguise the alarm in his voice. “Annette, we have to move.”

Annette coughs, spitting out a bit of clogged dust. “I got it.”

She heaves herself up to her feet. The mage has collected a considerable amount of energy around them, and the waves of roiling power has not ceased. But Annette remembers the somber gravity of her father’s face, and prepares to _run_. 

She hasn’t practiced all that footwork for nothing. 

O.O

Back when Annette was little, her father was her weapon. 

“A partnership needs more than just compatibility.” Her father’s voice echoes in her mind as she struggles to lift the weight of his hammer form. “You’re going to work very hard in order to be a meister one day.”

Her mother makes wielding a heavy weapon look effortless. There’s a grace in every brutal swing, a grace that Annette despairs that she would ever be able to imitate. She asks her parents the secret to their mutual power and beauty and gets an unexpected answer. 

“Footwork, my dear.” Her mother pets Annette’s crimped hair and rearranges her little feet into a proper fighting stance. “If you stand too still then you’re just asking for a corrupted soul to eat you up. Best keep yourself and your partner on your toes, hm?”

Annette practices her footwork every day after that. Even on the days after Father left and never came back home, when Mother’s shining energy lost its usual sparkle. Even on days where no weapon seemed to lift for her, where Mecerdes’ bowstring remains taut and Caspar’s gauntlets feel like twin boulders, she practices. 

It pays off in the end, when Felix takes her hand that pivotal evening and transforms into a blade so fierce and so beautiful that she lifts him with little to no effort and realizes that she’s found her weapon. 

Annette still practices, of course. But this time, she has a partner to do it with. 

O.O

Once Felix focuses, there’s a distinguishable pattern in the mage’s waves. 

Annette seems to be on the same page as he is. Her feet quicken and she begins weaving back and forth through the troughs of energy just like they’ve practiced in the training rooms together. For once, Felix thanks Professor Seteth for being so unforgivingly strict in his demonstrations during physical drills. 

As a weapon, Felix’s movements are limited. He’s at Annette’s disposal, to be wielded by her however she likes. He has some jurisdiction over the strength of each blow, the direction and accuracy of each swing, but he’s, as Ingrid likes to put it, at the chaotic whims of his meister.

It used to bother him, when he was still caustic and bitter over Glenn’s final moments. Why did weapons allow themselves to follow whatever foolishness the meister demanded of them? Why were they so willing to sacrifice themselves in the name of some absurd pact of fealty?

He never understood it until he met Annette. 

There’s a sudden burst of energy that swells up unexpectedly behind Annette, and she veers in sharp surprise but she’s skidding too quickly to stop. Felix grits his teeth and increases his weight twice fold, and the sudden increase in weight halts her in her tracks and allows her to sense the incoming danger and dodge accordingly. 

“Thanks,” Annette hisses, and she’s back on her feet at a dead sprint. 

Felix allows himself to admire her for exactly half a second before he snaps his attention back upon the mage keeping him and Annette from their final perfect examination score. 

O.O

Annette veers out of the mage’s outstretched hand of attack. There, in the frightened reflection of their gaze, she can see the glimmer of arcane sorcery and the desperation of a cornered beast. 

“In the name of Lady Death,” Annette pronounces with great solemnity, raising her sword, “I judge you.”

The mage’s startled shriek is cut off before Annette brings down her sword with a careful swing, cleaving them clean in twain. 

The dust clears. The moon shines serenely down, undisturbed and placidly watching as Annette straightens with a vigorous shake of her pigtails, wiping her forehead with a relieved sigh. The sword in her hands hums urgently, and she lets it go as Felix reverts with a half-groan. 

“You’ve gotten more precise,” he commends as soon as he’s worked out the kinks in his neck. “I could learn from that.”

“It was all because of you, Felix!” Annette waves off his praise but the smile on her face says otherwise. “I nearly got snuck up upon again!”

“You don’t watch your back enough.” Felix rolls his eyes at her as they watch the slain mage’s soul float lazily up from its body. “I have to do that for you.”

“Like you’re any better than me.” Annette plucks the lightly bobbing soul from the air and shivers as its cold texture seeps across her fingernails. She proffers the soul to him with a wide smile. “Here you are, Felix. Your 99th soul.”

Felix winces as he gingerly accepts the soul from her. “Don’t say it like it’s my final meal. We still have to track down a witch.”

“Oh, just enjoy the moment,” Annette scolds him as he takes a bite out of the soul like it’s hurting him. “And do you have to make that face every time you eat?”

“It’s too sweet,” Felix says through a mouthful of soul. 

Annette sighs longingly. “I’m so jealous.” 

O.O

Seteth is standing by the Academy gates by the time they’ve returned to Garreg Mach that night. His stern features are arranged into an expression of urgency as he turns to greet them. “Ah, perfect timing.” 

“Is something wrong, sir?” Annette asks as Professor Byleth finally strides up to them, her eyes a little more narrow than usual, which students have learned is her facial cue for concern. 

“The witch Cornelia has surfaced in the southern district of the city,” the older woman jerks her head towards the city, which has begun to shake with the faint tremors of explosive activity. “Most of our weapon and meister pairs have gone off to confront her before she tears the residential district apart, but she’s proving to be more than they can handle.”

“You’re one of the academy’s strongest pairs.” Seteth has already begun hustling them towards Lady Rhea’s personal escort vehicle, the motor puffing anxious plumes of smoke. “And you’ve successfully consumed your 99th corrupted soul, yes? This is a perfect opportunity for you two to complete your training.”

Annette turns whiter than a sheet, but Felix has lit up with a sort of savage hunger that radiates out of him like greed. “Understood, sir. We’ll bring her head back by tonight.”

“Felix,” Professor Byleth warns as they clamber inside the car doors, “Cornelia’s no ordinary witch. I’m to supervise in case anything goes south, but be aware that she’s not to be taken lightly.”

“We’ll take care of her,” Felix says grimly as Seteth sets his foot down on the gas and they take off in a whirl of smoke and screeching dust. “Don’t worry.”

O.O

Corrupted witches, cast from their coven, often slink in the shadows so as not to be caught off guard by a strong pair away from their home. Cornelia, notable ancient witch of darkness, has no known home location on record. A perfect caricature of the old witches, powerful, intimidating, and cunning, Cornelia has been behind multiple disappearances of power meister and weapon pairs since her first attack twenty years ago. 

As Seteth drives them further into town, Annette feels the tremors more clearly and recognizes with a start the telltale hum of wavelength attacks. It jitters up her spine and makes her fingers curls tighter on Felix’s wrist. 

Felix doesn’t need to glance back at her for reassurance. He curls his hand so that his fingers can weave more securely through hers and for a moment, her frantic heartbeat slows its rapid pounding and Annette reminds herself to breathe deep, to focus. 

_It’s alright. You are not Mother. You won’t underestimate Cornelia. You will take Cornelia’s soul and give it to Felix, and he’ll transform into a weapon of unparalleled power and both of your dreams will come true. You can do this—_

Seteth exclaims suddenly and slams his foot down on the brakes. “We’re here.”

Annette squints out of the car window and all of her fragile resolve calcifies. 

There are massive tears in the buildings bracketing the car. Craters of explosive magic bursts, the edges still smoking from elemental overuse. Civilians running as fast as their shaking legs could carry them from the center of town, their faces white as paper. A crying weapon limping away with her unconscious meister draped over her shoulder. 

Professor Byleth is already tying her hair back. “Get ready, you two.”

As they run out of the car and begin moving closer towards the epicenter of the attacks, Annette catches flashes of her classmate’s colors. Sylvain’s ruddy locks as he uses a golden polearm to keep Cornelia’s whips at bay. A flash of silver in the northern bell tower, where Ashe crouches with an elegant bow the color of winter sunlight. The powerful frame of her friend and liege Dimitri as he hefts a heavy war axe with a look of intense fury. 

And there, in the center of it all, the grinning visage of the old witch Cornelia. 

She’s an undeniably beautiful woman, just as Father had described her. Shining pale auburn hair, porcelain skin, eyes like chips of sapphires. Magic tendrils like curling pinions plucked from a phoenix’s wing zipping up and down her forearms. Her white dress pooling like marble water around her ankles. 

“Annette,” Felix says quietly, and suddenly Annette realizes she’s shaking. 

“I got it,” she murmurs, and she manages to hum a few broken notes. The warm rasp of his fingers across her skin is a small comfort before there’s a flash of light and she’s gripping the smooth handle of a pale blue greatsword.

From their old records, Cornelia specializes in long-range attacks that keep her opponents from getting close enough to attack. Annette has her theories that thus Cornelia is a glass cannon, prone to being felled by a decently powerful and precise enough attack, but Felix had countered that if it were so simple, she wouldn’t have survived this long. 

“She’s used to being underestimated,” Felix warns her as Annette sprints for cover. “We have to be careful.”

From her serene corner of the town square Cornelia looks as if she’s simply toying with her opponents. As she fends off the combined blows of both Sylvain and Dimitri, both famous for their melee techniques aided by their weapons, Annette observes with a pit in her stomach how the older witch has scarcely broken a sweat while both boys are panting raggedly. 

“Something’s wrong.” Felix’s wavelength ripples with agitation. “She’s waiting for something.”

A magicked arrow whizzes by Annette’s ear and she jumps as Cornelia easily deflects the head with but a wave of her fingers. Above her, Annette hears Ashe curse lowly and nock another arrow.

In her ear, Annette hears Professor Byleth’s urgent orders. “ _Keep her occupied until we evacuate the city. We can’t afford to have her continuing to run rampant_.”

Both Sylvain and Dimitri look exhausted. The usual twinkle of Ingrid’s polearm form has dulled to a strained bronze, while Dedue’s axehead has begun flickering like a torch in the wind. Annette calls out to her allies as she bursts onto the scene; Sylvain looks downright relieved to see her while Dimitri, still caught up in the deadly tempo of the fight, struggles to nod back at her. 

“Hello, little Fantine,” Cornelia croons at Annette. “You have your mother’s scowl.”

It’s Felix who flares in response to her jibes, but it’s Annette who bites her tongue and swings her blade to meet the onslaught of Cornelia’s attacks. 

O.O

The sun begins to wane. 

When the darkness grows, so does the potency of a witch’s abilities. The flare of Cornelia’s attacks sparks brighter, hits harder; Sylvain moves too slowly and now there’s a smoking scar on his shoulder that wrings tears from his eyes. 

Cornelia’s smile has faded ever since Dimitri managed to score a slice of blood across her torso, but just as Felix had predicted, she hasn’t gone down from that single attack. Rather, her attacks seem to be quickening and strengthening in power and ferocity, and now not only is she managing to keep all three of them from moving close enough to score another hit, but she’s also managing to put Ashe’s bell tower under fire.

“We have to do something quick,” Felix barks at Annette as she sways on her feet, dizzy with exertion. “Annette!”

A shock of energy travels through their wavelength connection, and Annette nearly jumps two feet into the air. “Felix!”

“Stay with me,” he orders her harshly, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of concern that steadies the frantic pulse of her heart. “Don’t make me sing again.”

She chokes out a laugh. “Wouldn’t want you to.”

Off to her right, Dimitri roars with pain as a well-timed strike from Cornelia punches through the meat of his left arm. Sylvain yells out to Dimitri, but Cornelia quickly writes in the air and conjures a powerful blast of magical energy that directs its attention towards the smoking bell tower. 

Ingrid’s scream tears itself out of her weapon form. “NO!” 

Annette is already running, her mind moving faster than her feet would keep up.

Mercedes’s arrows can deflect magic. Ashe won’t be able to fire in time. The bell tower will collapse, along with the weapon and meister inside. 

“Annette, what are you doing,” Felix is shouting at her as she skids to a stop at the base of the tower. “Annette. Annette!”

“Can you deflect that?” Annette shouts back, hefting the sword with a desperate strength that she now recognizes through the cracks of her mother’s elegance. Cornelia’s chanting has raised to a fever pitch. “You have to. We have to. Felix, _Felix_ —”

Cornelia ends her chanting on a scream and Ingrid reverts just in time to pull Sylvain out of the way. Dimitri and Dedue, further away from her epicenter, are knocked back by the sheer force of the blast. 

And Annette raises her blade, casts a brief prayer heavenwards, and braces herself. 

O.O

As the second son of a prestigious weapon family, Felix isn’t constrained to a single weapon form. The power of his wavelength transcends static forms, at least that’s what Rodrigue often claims. 

Fraldarius scions can choose their weapon forms, but ever since time immemorial, every family has sworn allegiance to the meister family of the Blaiddyds. As a show of good faith, every weapon demonstrates fealty by transforming into a greatshield to protect the heirs of the Blaiddyd family. 

_It’s all_ , Felix decided the day Glenn arrived home an empty husk, _a load of bullshit_. 

It’s the reason Glenn’s final weapon transformation was a shield; it was the reason why Dimitri was able to escape in one relatively whole piece; it’s the reason why Felix curls in on himself every night and watches his fingers turn to blades with curling fear in his heart. 

But then again, times change, feelings change, and so do weapon forms in a moment of heated passion. 

O.O

Later, Sylvain and Ingrid recount to Annette that Felix’s sword form had let out the most soul-chilling scream that any of them had ever heard from their childhood friend. It was a shout that radiated with pure adrenaline-fueled desperation, and even Cornelia had staggered under the force of the wavelength attack that swelled outwards like a banking wave from the ocean. 

Annette remembers the weight shifting in her hands. The center of gravity that laid in the crossguard of Felix’s sword had shifted and spread like opening wings, and she had gingerly peeked open an eye with wonder as the famous greatshield of the Fraldarius loomed over her, Felix’s harsh panting shuddering the steady line of their wavelength connection. 

She marvels. “Felix, you—”

“I know,” he replies, dazed, uncharacteristically flustered. “I didn’t…I wasn’t even sure if I could.”

Annette let out an incredulous little laugh. “Look at you! You’re magnificent!”

The burnished gold of his shield form turns a little red, as if it’s being held over a forge, and that’s when Sylvain and his incredible timing decide to save his friends from themselves. “Annette! Cover Ashe and Mercie!”

“The city has been evacuated.” Professor Byleth’s cool voice filters over their shared earpieces. “I’m on my way.”

Annette hefts New Felix carefully. The shield spreads from her chest to the ground, and the weight has distributed over an even area so that while it covers more ground, Felix still weighs roughly around the same as his great sword form. It’s perfect.

“You look incredible,” Annette says with great feeling. 

Felix’s wavelength goes very hot, and she can feel him hiding his blush in the reflection off of the shield’s surface. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s focus on that witch first.”

When Professor Byleth darts into town center, wielding the magnificent arms of Saint Cichol in the form of Seteth’s silver lance, she is more than a little surprised to see the reticent scion of the Fraldarius family in the form he’s withheld for years, his tiny meister adjusting her attacks and defenses as if they’ve always trained with this form. 

_Those two,_ Seteth murmurs, shaking his proverbial head. 

“Those two,” Byleth agrees, and she charges towards her students. 

O.O

Cornelia escapes by way of sewer grate at the sight of the goddess-touched professor and the saintly weapon she bore. The city center is left in disarray, but thanks to the efforts of her class, Professor Byleth has managed to keep casualties at a minimum.

Even though Cornelia still managed to flee with her soul intact, the brief encounter feels like a victory. 

“Do you think you can transform like that again, you think?” Annette asks as she sits with Felix in the infirmary. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Felix stares at the scuffed floor of the room, running a pensive thought up and down the bandaged surface of his shoulder. “I haven’t tried it until today.”

His quiet confession wavers through the room. Annette holds his hand, carefully, then tighter as his fingers weave more solidly through hers. 

“We’ll figure things out as we go,” she tells him reassuringly. She brightens. “Hey, now I can actually _throw_ you. We can come up with long-range attacks!”

“If you do,” Felix threatens, but he softens when she snuggles into his side and begins humming.

“You’ll what?” Annette pokes him teasingly, her voice lilting a bit on each syllable. 

Felix rolls his eyes. “You’ll look ridiculous.”

“ _We’ll_ look cool.” Annette corrects with great satisfaction. 

He agrees, though he doesn’t say it aloud. But he knows that she understands, because he can feel her wavelength curl around his like the tail of a satisfied cat, and Felix knows as he wordlessly reciprocates that they’ll figure this out. 

They always do. 

.

.

.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Rodrigue called later and was like "Omg you're a shield! You gonna hang with Dimitri now?"  
> Felix, holding onto Annette like a koala: "No, fuck you Dad."
> 
> Thank you for reading, and a special thanks to Tori for reminding me that there's an absolute goldmine of anime AUs I can apply to felannie in the future. Your brain is huge. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/clairvoyancehsu)


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